Sometimes columns or reviews serve to record joy—the release of a new book is always a celebration—but other times, grief overwhelms us and compels us to write about loss. With this text, I do not intend to lament the unexpected departure of a friend, rather it is a review, a wake-up call for us not to forget a column in recent literary history. That’s how I’ve seen Paco Robles as a supporting column for many of the writers, readers, and critics who have come after him since I met him.
I remember very well the first time I saw a book from Candaya publishing house. I was chasing my own literary voice, looking for that genius who would dictate what would be my hallmark, my way of telling. I couldn’t find it anywhere. My teacher and friend Javier Cebrián showed me a book that perhaps showed me one of the possible ways. Nocilla Dream, written by Agustín Fernández Mallo, with a foreword by Juan Bonilla. I remember being a little reticent… Perhaps my prejudices towards experimentation led me to be a “normal” writer—I never could have been. I bought that copy and discovered, alone in my room at home, that the book was badly assembled. The quirks enthusiast kept it like a treasure keeper. I followed that publisher’s footsteps with excitement. Maybe that marriage that I didn’t know yet had fulfilled one of my dreams. For the uninitiated reader, Candaya is the name of that fantastical kingdom upon which Clavileño, Don Quixote, and Sancho ride to end the evil spells of the giant Malambruno. Everything was so fantastic and so quixotic…
I will never forget the day I met Olga and Paco’s wonderful tandem. Pynchon & Co. in the old place of the bookstore, Olga, the overflowing force of nature, and Paco, the teacher we all want to have. It’s my first time contacting them. I sensed the kindness and wisdom in Paco’s eyes. I noticed the editor’s gaze, the care the craftsmen put into each product. I remember being fascinated by the almond variety called catania that we drank with cava at that presentation. I asked Olga for a reference on this delicacy, she asked my father, who was already very sick, to try it. On my next visit they brought me a box. I was excited when I got home. I cried like a child at that display of generosity. This gesture meant a lot to me, and I never told Paco.
Paco Robles’ death was a blow. Publishers like her, such as Olga of Ediciones del Viento, Eduardo Riestra or Max Lacruz of Funambulista, are the ones who have restored our faith in literature. Paco and Olga showed that talent isn’t just a matter of writers, it’s an important part of publishers’ art process of creating books. We never appreciate an editor’s work until he loses it, until that entity that encourages its writers, fights to give them visibility and make them feel supported, leaves us. Like any other Quixote driven mad by books, I will never be able to thank Paco for his path to Spanish literature, for how he discovered us important writers today. I have a pending conversation with Paco and I repeat that I want to thank him for everything he has given us. Candaya is part of Paco and Paco is part of Candaya. Thanks for making these dreams come true, Paco: yours… yours… ours.